HTTYD Drabbles
by Ahrk
Summary: Random drabbles that will be updated ever so often, either set during the movie or before/after.
1. First:Courage

.~.

"Hiccup, either knock off that twitching or be ready for a punch to the head."

The young male blinked in surprise, turning sheepishly towards the blonde girl frowning at him. "Sorry, it's just, you know. Not used to this kind of thing…" he trailed off, his eyes darting out towards the village square, his mild distress elevating at the number of villagers making their way to the Great Hall near his location.

As the people passed him, they gave him warm smiles and friendly pats on his shoulder or his head. He could still remember the disdain showing clearly in their eyes whenever they saw him, but it seemed so long ago, and almost as if it was a dream. Giving mild waves and short handshakes, he quickly felt the butterflies in his stomach reach Terrible Terror size.

Astrid, who had been watching the interactions, began to notice that the smile on Hiccup's face, once again, seemed a little more strained and fake as more people filed in through the great doors. She crossed her arms, keeping her calm but slowly starting to fume inside. After all that had happened, she was sure he had built at least some small amount of confidence when interacting with the villagers. His confidence with dragons was second to none; even the Monstrous Nightmares, who had at first been mildly stand-offish, flocked around him with their deep rumbling purrs as he stroked their muzzles with a warm smile to each of them.

Her thoughts trailed to the rare Night Fury that never seemed to leave Hiccup's side. Even now, out of the corner of her eye, she could see him perched near one of the torches that lit up the main entrance to the hall, his eyes watching every person and every dragon that came near his rider. He noted her short gaze, and gave a soft croon. She turned her head and gave him a smile, which seemed to spur him to rise and come forward.

She thought Toothless would come to her, but he instead maneuvered his bulk between her and Hiccup, nuzzling the boy on the back of his shoulder. As if on instinct, Hiccup raised his arm and allowed Toothless' head to rest near his hip, a deep, vibrating purr beginning to start from the dragon's chest and work through both of them.

Astrid's eyes widened at the change that occurred in Hiccup the instant Toothless stood next to him. The sudden calm that washed over the boy was almost alarming, as if touching the dark scales stole away any fear he had in his body.

Hiccup closed his eyes, Toothless' purr radiating through him. It seemed that the dragon knew just what he needed to calm down. He slowly opened his eyes, watching the sun setting beyond the many houses and vast ocean beyond. An urge to fly seemed to bloom in his chest, but he kept it down. There was always later, but not at the moment. Not when his father had looked that serious as he called the entire population of older villagers to the Great Hall for a meeting.

He peeked down at Toothless, noting the watchful worry-filled gaze. He smiled assuredly, scratching lightly on the scales on Toothless' nose. As the last of the adults entered through the archway, he finally relaxed off his prosthetic leg, leaning a bit on Toothless.

"So, how long do you think it's going to take?" Astrid murmured. Hiccup sighed and moved his stare to the ground, a frown growing on his face.

"I'm not sure. You know, not everyone has enjoyed our change of lifestyle." Hiccup replied. The Viking equivalent of becoming an adult always used to be killing a dragon. Now, that was quickly becoming obsolete, all thanks to what he had accomplished.

Taming a rare Night Fury, freeing the dragons from the Red Death, saving his entire village; no one seemed to question if Hiccup was a Viking anymore. That kind of bravery, although completely insane and almost downright life-threatening to the extreme even to a Viking, only came once in a few generations. The courage to change your destiny, it seemed, was something easy to the young Viking. He had tried for years to be just like all the others, to do that one thing that would change how everyone saw him. Not some weakling that the village should be ashamed of, but a strong Viking that everyone would respect and be proud of.

Toothless crooned once more, moving his head up from Hiccup's hip to give warm, wet licks to his cheek. Hiccup grinned, laughing a bit as he wiped his face of slime. "Thanks bud."

That small urge to fly that had begun now came back full force, and he couldn't stop himself if he tried. With practiced ease, he swung himself up in the saddle, Toothless now barely able to contain his excitement at being in the air again. He turned his head back to the girl who had stood with him throughout the evening, throwing his hand out towards her.

"Up for some air time?" he grinned. Toothless barked happily, motioning her up on his back as well. Astrid smiled, shaking her head slightly as she took the offered hand-up.

"Don't blame me if my Nadder decides to tag along out of jealousy."

Hiccup laughed, already shifting his controls to open the prosthetic tailfin.

.~.


	2. Second:Loss

.~.

The quiet was stifling.

Ash and soot rained slowly down upon his shoulders and beard, but Stoic the Vast didn't care at all. He coughed as he breathed with alarm, trying to pick out any trace through the dense smoke-filled air.

"Hiccup?" his voice echoed. "HICCUP?" he yelled, hoping to hear at least some kind of cry for help, or roar from his son's tamed dragon, or _anything_. Anything but the silence that was pounding in his ears now.

His heart growing desperate, he picked up his pace, rushing to where he had last seen a flash of black wings right before the inferno had erupted. What Hiccup had done was reckless, and so, so dangerous. Watching his son free-fall out of the sky in front of that monstrous gaping maw that was raging with fire almost froze his blood, worse than any ice ever could. At the last possible moment, the Night Fury had managed to right itself and catch a current around the crashing tyrant before the explosion hit the beach.

"Son?" he cried, all but giving up being calm and collected. A clearing of smoke and his breath caught as his eyes trained on a black shadow on the ground.

"Hiccup…!" Stoic gasped, rushing towards the downed black dragon. The large eyes were closed, his wings lying limp on the ground. Pained breathing echoed from within, and as Stoic looked closer, he began to notice the tattered remains of the harness. The dragon shifted to his side, still barely conscious, the gear that allowed Hiccup to ride and help him fly almost thrashed beyond recognition. Stoic looked towards the tail, and noted with a skipped beat that the prosthetic tailfin his son had crafted was gone, the cables that controlled it frayed and bent at the ends.

The shock of what he was seeing hit him hard, knocking him down to his knees. "Oh, son…" he murmured, closing his eyes as his heart filled with sorrow and pain. Guilt raked through his core, shaming him for driving his only family to go this far. The words Hiccup cried in the Great Hall just a few hours ago rang clear through his mind – '_For once in your life, would you please just listen to me?'_- and he almost cried out as his heart began to break from all the pain. The words Stoic had thrown back in his anger nearly undid him.

'_You're not a Viking. You're not my son.'_ Oh, how he wished he had never said those words. The swift apology he had given after freeing the Night Fury from the water was almost a joke. He just couldn't find the words to express how he felt. He felt lame and uneducated, compared to his son. Hiccup would have known the right thing to say.

'_We're Vikings, it's an occupational hazard.'_ Hiccup had quipped, that small smirk back on his face. Stoic couldn't help at that moment but see just how alike he and his son were. Stoic had never seen Hiccup this way: ready to protect everyone with his life. It made his heart swell with pride, and he found at least one sentence to convey it.

'_I'm proud to call you my son._' Hiccup looked shocked, but his eyes took on a determined set.

'_Thanks, Dad._'

If Stoic had known that was the last he'd speak to his son, he would have had so much more to say. It was almost unreal, the image of the injured Night Fury in front of him behind his eyelids. His son, his Hiccup, was really gone. He had nothing left, no trace of his family, no trace of his wife and mother of his child.

"I did this…" he whispered painfully, shaking his head slowly. He could hear the villagers approaching behind him, but he made no move. He didn't care anymore. His flesh and blood was gone. He had saved them all, but at the cost of his own life.

He heard the Night Fury stir, moaning in pain. He slowly brought his gaze up, locking eyes with the only being who had ever understood his son. The creature's gaze was one of quiet sorrow, as if he himself had lost a family member. With slow realization, Stoic came to the conclusion that maybe that was exactly what the dragon had lost. His son and this Night Fury had a deeper bond than he had ever had with his own flesh and blood. They had come from two very different worlds, but found solace and comfort in each other. The rarest Viking in the world together with the rarest dragon in the world.

Stoic could barely control his emotions. His voice broke as he regarded the dragon.

"Oh son… I'm so sorry…" He wasn't sure if he was still speaking to Hiccup, or to the creature who had lost as much as he had.

The dragon seemed almost confused, his eyes growing in understanding as the words seemed to sink in. Stoic wondered if the Night Fury actually knew what he said. He was distracted as the black head gazed down to where his wings came together, every Viking and dragon watching as they unfurled one at a time. As the second wing uncovered, Stoic's eyes widened as a familiar crop of brown hair became visible.

"Hiccup!" he cried, rushing forward to the young boy held protectively in the Night Fury's claws. He picked his son up out of the embrace, glad that the dragon didn't put up a resistance, which he doubt he could at the moment. Checking Hiccup's bruised face, he couldn't feel a breath, and panicked. He threw off his hat and brought his son's chest closer, dipping his head to listen. A wave of relief made him cry out as he felt the steady pulse beat against his ear.

"He's alive! " He turned his eyes towards the calm and steady gaze of the Night Fury.

"You brought him back alive!"

.~.


	3. Third:Choice

.~.

His whole body ached.

That was his first semi-conscious thought. Experimentally, he tried to open his eyes, to assess his situation, but his body wouldn't respond. He wasn't even sure he was breathing.

He felt a weight around him, trapping his limbs and wings, barring his ability to move. Even if he wanted to. He slowly realized, with a tad more effort than necessary, that he had been caught.

That drove the fight out of him.

He was caught? He was never caught. Nor had any of his kind ever been caught. He was too fast, too quick, too deadly. The two-legged beings, 'Vikings' he had heard somewhere during his curious ventures of the creatures, ran in fear of his coming. They screamed warnings as he flew towards his targets – "Night Fury!" he wondered what it meant idly- and dove for cover as his shots rang true.

Their structures and nests had no chance against him. He could destroy the entire nest and the whole lot of them, if he so chose to. None of their weapons, none of their power, could reach him. He was the master of the sky, choosing aerial tactics over ground fighting, unlike the other dragons. He wasn't sure if the others were even aware they made easy targets when they got too close. But, then again, _someone_ had to get the food. To take back to _him_.

His heart grew heavy at the thought of the rest of the dragons. Without his attacks on the Vikings' weapons, the others were surely being captured, or worse, killed. If it wasn't the resistance they fought in getting food, then it was what awaited them back at the nesting grounds. The chance of being devoured far outweighed the risk of being killed in the raids on the settlements of the Vikings. Either you brought back enough to appease the giants' hunger, or he satiated his hunger with your hide.

A snapping sound brought his mind back to his current predicament. His heart began to beat wildly. So, it wasn't enough to catch him, now he was meant to be carved and made into a trophy? He had seen what the Vikings did with his fellow dragons; grisly decapitated heads and horns used for decoration, or warding off raiding dragons, he wasn't sure. He wondered just how many more raids would happen, if it were _his_ head mounted in the Vikings' nest. Nothing had ever caught him, or his predecessors, until now. Faced with the notion that the Vikings could catch literally the master of the sky, would the other dragons chance at trying to steal food ever again? Or resign to being eaten or slaughtered?

He heard the steps of a creature coming closer, and kept still. He hoped that his form wouldn't be spotted, although he knew nothing would hide his deep black scales in the light of the sun that was slowly coming through the trees. Sure enough, he heard a surprised intake of breath just beyond the rise where he had crashed through the brush.

Odd. Usually one of the buff, annoying creatures would be proclaiming to the world of their catch. And especially of a dragon such as him. Why did he hear nothing? No cries of victory, no alerting to other Vikings who might also be looking for him?

Whatever it was, it had slid down the rest of the hillside and thudded behind the boulder nearest to him. Had it really only been one to come find him? Was it some kind of ritual, to come out alone and kill a dragon without any help? If he listened close enough, he could make out the rapid breathing beginning to edge closer.

So, it _was_ a Viking. No animal would make loud, nervous pants like that.

Wait, nervous? Why was it nervous? He was stuck, downed, and unable to move. Why would a Viking be nervous of him? Maybe his reputation amongst these creatures had been worse than he thought.

Finally, after seeing he wasn't moving, the Viking began to talk. It sounded… different, from what he could tell. Not as deep or as intimidating. He was almost amused at how the damn thing spoke. Certainly didn't sound like any Viking he had heard—

What the – oh, for the love of—the damn thing was _boasting_. If there were any times he wished he couldn't understand the language of these creatures, it was now. It was almost crowing in happiness at his prone, limp form. A wave of fresh, seething anger worked its way up his body. If it was going to kill him, would it just hurry up and be done with it? If he had to listen to any more of this—

A sudden weight to his trapped front paw startled a growl out of him, and he wondered when his body finally began to respond to his wishes. He had lashed his paw out as much as he could towards whatever had touched him, causing the Viking to give a shout of surprise and stop talking.

He lay there, breathing deeply; feeling like it had been ages since he had last taken a breath. He heard the Viking edge back closer, and risked opening his eyes to finally see the one who had caught him.

Odd.

This wasn't a Viking, he mused. It was too… scrawny. And small. It was only a male youngling, from what he could tell. Not as hairy or as muscled as the rest of its kind. He was certainly wearing the furs of a Viking though. And, he had a weapon of a Viking. A small, sharp thing, but it would be enough to do the job with the way he was trapped.

The scrawny—he couldn't call it a Viking, that's for sure—creature's eyes trailed up his body, until he finally reached and locked gazes with him. The youngling's eyes widened in surprise, and he turned his view away from the dragons' for a moment.

Now that was rather peculiar. Why would he be ashamed of staring into the face of the one he was going to kill? The one that he had defeated? This… whelp, had been the one to knock him out of the sky? Why wasn't he proud of what he had done? Their eyes locked again, and he noted the scared look that was given. Almost as if… he didn't want to kill…?

The young creature seemed to find his confidence in the midst of his musings. His eyes had hardened.

"I'm gonna kill you dragon. I'm gonna, I'm gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father," he seemed to press himself on with the words as he lifted the sharp blade higher. "I am a Viking," he mantra'd to himself, closing his eyes as if to solidify that as truth. Almost as if the whelp had known what the dragon was thinking, he yelled the same thing straight at the dragon's eye.

The young creature steeled himself as the dragon looked on, not moving. He didn't struggle; what was the point? He simply watched as his end grew closer.

He couldn't be sure what to think now. This young thing, although he assured himself he was a Viking, certainly didn't have the backbone for it. Vikings didn't hesitate. Vikings didn't fear a downed dragon.

But if he wasn't a Viking, would he really go through with it? His eyes widened as the young Viking faltered, staring at him. Strangely, all he felt was pity. Not for his own situation, but surprisingly, for this young whelp. The fear, the doubt, it all roiled in those green eyes as they continued to lock gazes. He shifted his head up, peering closer. Could this being really be a Viking? Could he really have come from that village of hardened two-legged people? Their eyes both held the same look; fear, and an inability to do anything about it. But, the dragon idly wondered, was the young boy feeling fear _of_ him, or _for_ him?

The Viking gave a growl and shut his eyes, raising the blade once more. So, he was going to go through with it. Laying his head back down with a groan, he shut his eyes and resigned himself to the end. He simply lay and waited; for the deep pain of his life leaving him, for his world to suddenly stop.

He took in the last breaths he ever thought he would get, silently recalling all the moments of his life. At least, it seemed, he wouldn't be devoured. And, if this young boy was really speaking the truth, it didn't seem to be his head that would be going back to the village; although, he didn't really care anymore. Let them do what they want with his body. He wouldn't need it any longer in a few moments.

His eyes opened in alarm as the sound of something being cut. It wasn't his flesh. It was—

The Viking was cutting the rope.

What was he—he darted his eyes as best he could to watch as the Viking severed the bindings around him one by one. Another one fell; his legs came free. He was shell-shocked. What was the damn thing _doing_? Was he insane? Was he aware he could be killed instantly the moment the dragon was free?

The last binding holding him in place loosened, and he lurched with a loud roar and pinned the young boy against the boulder.

Situations are now reversed.

He stared angrily down at this creature, this _boy_, that had brought him down. This weak little thing had been the only one ever to bring down one of his kind. He snarled, locking his claws down further on the small chest. The small creature simply winced, peering up at him with fearful eyes.

How could he-? Their gazes were locked again; one about to end the others' life, and the other with the inability to do anything about it. But, again, the dragon mused, was the fear of this young boy, or what could be something that shouldn't ever happen? The young Viking peered up at him with confusion, and a slow understanding started to come through those green eyes.

Really. Leave it to the strangest Viking he had ever seen to be the first to show _compassion_.

He pulled back with a snarl and raised his head. The Viking huddled back down to the ground as much as he could.

With a huge breath, he screamed—was it rage, confusion, or warning, he wasn't sure—right at the young creature's face. He wasn't sure he wanted to put a name to what had transpired between them. It was a precipice he wasn't sure either world could afford to let arise.

With a glare to the weak creature beneath him, he pushed off from the boulder and shot through the trees, his body finally alerting him to his injuries of his fall from the sky just hours before.

He didn't even look back.

.~.


	4. First:Change

.~.

The crowd murmured in deep rumbles, all looking around at each others' faces. Confusion and curiosity were mostly shown, along with the occasional fear in a person's eyes. Whatever was about to happen, it would affect their lives forever. The tension in the air seemed to get thicker as a lull came over the town center, everyone's gaze drawn to the large figure walking proudly towards a large pedestal stone in the middle. Some started to talk lowly as the smaller young man limped behind him, his dark scaly shadow not far from his side.

Standing tall over the many spiky helmeted heads, the large bearded man raised his hands and motioned to the crowd.

"Al'right, quiet down. This is important." He paused and placed his hands on his hips, gazing around as all eyes swept up to him and mouths closed, the entire area silent except for the rumbles and hisses of the scaled creatures watching from the hatchery not too far away.

"Now, as many of you know, we've had a bit o' trouble with our unfriendly neighbors to the east. The lot o' them even taking to attackin' our fishing vessels." The man's brow tightened as a few voices rose in anger at the cowardice of the tribe that had shown up out of the blue a month ago. Having reached an understanding that the village of Berk had impressive defenses in the form of winged, fire-breathing guardians, the tribe had taken to sneaking around in small raiding boats, dogging the village's attempts to acquire fish for supplies and to keep them trapped on their island.

As the crowd settled down again to let him continue, Stoick turned his eyes to his son, who stood near him on the pedestal, one hand scratching nervously on the snout of his dragon. The dragon - a dark, sleek Night Fury, better known to the village as Toothless - merely sat on his haunches, peering around the crowd with his large cat-like eyes.

Stoick wasn't quite sure how his son would take his announcement that he was about to make. The meeting had gone on for at least a day and a half, and even then he still wasn't sure every elder agreed. Responsibility would weigh heavily on one person, more than any other in the village, and some had been concerned that it would be too much.

But, he had argued, the times had changed.

"Today, we have finally reached a decision regarding these attacks." Watching the crowd, he chose his next words carefully.

"We have decided to start a unit composed of those who would ride their dragons into battle and strike from the air, and my son, Hiccup, has been selected to be the leader."

A shocked murmur rose through the crowd, some glancing between the two figures on the pedestal, some talking between themselves. Hiccup's name echoed through the square as everyone took in the chief's announcement.

Hiccup himself had gone rigid with shock, his eyes wide as they darted to his father's back. When the elders had all gathered in the Great Hall, he hadn't expected them to be discussing himself. He wondered if he was the reason the meeting had gone on so long. With his past history, he was sure it would have taken a miracle for the village to accept him into a place of power so soon. Sure, he was the chief's son, but he had years to grow into that position, and earn it the right way.

But to place him as head of a group of Vikings to ride into battle on dragons? He honestly questioned if his father had lost his mind.

"Dad…" he breathed. Stoick turned at his son's voice, giving him a soft, almost searching look.

"Hiccup," he started. What could he say? He had suddenly thrust heavy burdens onto his sons' shoulders without as much as a warning. Ever since the battle at the Dragon's Nest, he had come to understand that his son was a truly brave and brilliant young man. He had done the impossible and brought two warring species together as friends and companions. Stoick almost couldn't remember a time when the village had been as peaceful as after the dragons' had been accepted.

But, history repeats itself, and if it wasn't going to be dragons they were at war with, it would have to be something else.

He took a few steps forward, placing his large hand on his son's shoulder. Hiccup stared up into his father's face, searching his eyes. Stoick gave a warm smile, patting his hand twice on his son's back and bringing him forward in front of the crowd.

"As of today, my son is no longer a Viking."

The crowd gasped. Had their chief lost his mind? Hiccup had turned pale, peering up at his dad with an almost fearful look. But Stoick remained calm, with a proud smile on his face. Almost as if he could sense what the large man was planning, Toothless came forward also to sit on the opposite side of Hiccup, his tail swishing like a feline. His eyes pinned the crowd, causing them to stay quiet.

"From this day forth, my son will be the first to champion a new title: Dragon Warrior."

After a moment, a loud cheer rose throughout the villagers. Anyone who had been present for Hiccup's heroic display against the Red Death certainly didn't question this new turn of events for the chief's son. Anyone who could tame the rarest dragon of all and take down the biggest dragon of all certainly was a worthy warrior and leader.

Hiccup stood numb, merely staring down towards the ground. Him, a leader of a group of dragon riders, and on top of that, a newly appointed Dragon Warrior? He focused on the prosthetic foot on his left side, questioning his ability to do anything even remotely heroic when he could barely walk without needing support.

A comforting purr rumbled beside him, and Toothless' snout came into his view. He immediately smiled and brought his head up to look at his best friend. It almost seemed like his problems faded. Toothless couldn't fly without him, and in a strange twist, he relied on the black dragon to help him simply walk. But together, they became an unstoppable force. Toothless' power and speed. Hiccup's intelligence and strategic knowledge.

He gave a warm rub to his dragon's head, turning back to his father to smile up at him. Stoick grinned back proudly, hugging his son close with one arm. He continued on in a loud, booming voice to the crowd.

"Starting tomorrow, any and all villagers believing they have what it takes to be in my son's unit should report to the training grounds. We'll show those mongrels what it means to mess with Berk!"

The crowd roared with vigor, applauding loudly. Stoick smiled proudly, and, many noted, so did his son and Night Fury.

Tomorrow was a new day.

.~.


End file.
